All Those Snowy Nights
by Immeritus Noxnoctis
Summary: Oneshot. What's Edward been up to now that he's left Suburbia? This oneshot explores Edward's feelings, what he's been doing, and why he makes snow. More importantly, who he makes it for. 50 percent seriousness, 50 percent fluff.


**Authors Notes: **Hello, lovlies. Incase you didn't notice, which I very much hope you did, this is a story about Edward Scissorhands. I re-discovered the movie a few weeks ago, and since then haven't been able to get sweet Edward out of my mind. I just kept wondering, 'What's he doing now? Does he think about Kim? Is he sad? Lonely? If I brought him home, would my parents let me keep him?'. So this oneshot answers some of those questions. It's a little bit of an insight on what's going on with Edward, how he's feeling, stuff like that. And the rest of it is just pure fluff...'cus Edward's just so dang fluffy. D

-pinches Edwards cheeks-

**Edward: **(nervously) Um...could...could you please not do that? Please?

-blinks- Aw, Edward, you're just so darn cute!

**Edward: **(flinches and backs away slowly)

Don't worry, I won't pinch your cheeks again. I'll respect your wishes... -tackles dear sweet Eddie instead-

**Edward: **(staggers under Immy's weight)(whispers to reader) Help...please...

**_Disclaimer: _**I don't own Edward Scissorhands, Kim Boggs, Suburbia, or anyting of Tim Burton's creation as seen in the movie Edward Scissorhands. I do, however, have Edward on loan from Mr. Burton. -grins madly-

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**Life After Suburbia**

_An Edward Scissorhands Story_

The attic was cold.

It always had been, even before the roof fell in. Nothing had technically changed about it. Yet after feeling the warmth of a true house, filled with colors and family, and just so many _things_…

Needless to say, the castle that had been home for so many years was no longer home. It was simply a shelter. A sanctuary and a confinement at the same time. Nothing like home.

It was cold. It was empty. Above all else, it was lonely.

He paused for a moment, unblinking eyes scanning the emptiness of the vast attic. His haven, oddly. Perhaps it was the gaping hole in the roof, giving a clear view of the starry night sky. Perhaps it was the shadows that filled the emptiness, drawing him in.

Whatever it was, out of the entire castle he had chosen the attic, with it's unoccupied space and frightening shadows, as his haven. His home.

And perhaps he chose to stay here because this was were it all began. And ended.

Lowering his head slightly at the thought, he quickly shuffled into the shadows of the attic. He glanced wistfully at the fireplace that held his make-shift bed as he passed by it. He hadn't used it in months. He never really needed it in the first place. Sleeping was a choice for him, not a necessity. It was something he did simply out of boredom, which, unsurprisingly, came quite often for him. In those many years before the Boggs, he had slept often. Yet he'd never had a dream.

Now he couldn't escape the dreams. Sleeping, waking, they always came.

He rarely slept anymore.

Aside from his bed, not much else remained in the attic. After his father died, the entire castle had been scoured and cleared out, by legal means or not. The antique furniture, passed down through generations of Lovelace's went first; the dining table Father used to teach him proper etiquette at, the sitting-room couch Father often fell asleep on, everything in his own 'proper' bedroom. (The attic had always been his real bedroom, even if it wasn't one)

Next to go were the books; once people stumbled upon the vast library, they couldn't resist. He couldn't really blame them; all of the books his father had collected meticulously over the years were wonderful. Books on everything from science to mythology, biographies to art. Poetry had been his, and Edward's, personal favorite.

He had managed, by pure luck, to save a few of his favorites; the books Father had spent hours teaching him to read, whether he could turn the pages or not. They sat piled carefully by his fireplace. Mostly he just stared at them, willing them to open so he could read again.

For a long time after his father's death the people kept coming, claiming things that rightfully belonged to him. Father had made it clear that once he 'passed on', everything would go to his rightful heir; Edward.

Apparently the other people hadn't been informed.

He was sad to see everything go, everything that had belonged to Father. Obviously there had been nothing he could do. He couldn't be seen. He wasn't finished, and he wasn't to be revealed until he was finished. He knew that. So he just stood by and watched as everything except Father's machinery was taken.

Though he had tried his best to prevent it, the attic had been cleared of everything too. Once filled with the old treasures that so fascinated him, it was now completely empty.

At least, it was most of the time.

For the moment dozens of ice sculptures filled the shadowy space, glistening in the moonlight that poured through the attic's openings. A smile sparked in his eyes as they traveled over the shimmering sculptures. He wasn't particularly proud of himself for sculpting them. No, arrogance definitely wasn't in Edward's nature. He had been taught humility. Father had said one needed space to grow, always.

Drawing forward, he chipped absentmindedly at one of the sculptures; one of his many angels, glittering wings spread in a display of dazzling transparent pearl. It wasn't that he was proud of the sculptures, but rather the memories they brought back. He mostly sculpted things he had seen in Suburbia, things he wished to see again.

The memories weren't too painful for him, nor did he dwell on them day and night. He simply remembered. Even though things went horribly wrong during his time in the pastel town, he treasured the memories he'd made. Even if some of them weren't particularly…pleasant. He tried not to dwell on those. (Edward would never want to point any fingers, but he generally skipped any memories involving Joyce. Just as a rule of thumb.)

He spent only a moment circling the ice-sculptures, chipping here and there, perfecting them a bit more. He wasn't focused on sculpting at the moment. Besides, there was already enough snow outside. He needn't add anymore just yet.

Weaving carefully through his sculptures, he made his way towards the opening in the attic roof. A velvet-black sky filled in the space, silvery stars scattered across it almost too perfectly. The bright moon banished any shadows around the opening, casting silvery rays on his pale face. As he drew closer his grounds came into view. The tall topiaries surrounding the castle glowed palely in the moonlight, thin layers of white cloaking the green plants beneath.

His eyes drifted slowly, almost dreamily, beyond his own grounds to the town below. Suburbia glittered brightly against the night sky, a blanket of white against the endless expanse of obsidian. Somehow the harsh pastel colors of the town fit with the soft, pale snow. The two were meant to be, Suburbia and snow.

A soft smile tugged at his lips without him even noticing it. He knew that he had brought snow to the town. Yet just as with the ice sculptures, he didn't pride himself on it. He would never flaunt it to the towns-people below. Most likely, the people below had no idea producing snow had almost become his job. And that was fine with him.

It made him happy to watch the children playing in the fluffy stuff, knowing families hurried about in the cold just to return to warm houses and hot cocoa. He knew they enjoyed the long-awaited snow. That was partly why he kept carving, day after day, hour after hour, in the winter.

But there was another reason. A much more intimate reason than just pleasing the entire town. There was one person he wanted to please the most. Through his snow he kept a connection with her, year in and year out.

Eagerly his dark eyes scanned the town, seeing far beyond the range of any normal human being. Quickly his gaze settled on a pale yellow house just to the east of his Castle, right within the shadow of The Hill.

He wasn't exactly sure how he had figured out it was her house. For a long time after his return to the Castle, he'd kept an eye on the Boggs' house. He hadn't meant to spy on them, but he couldn't help it. They were the closest thing to family he'd ever had, aside from his father.

For awhile she stayed at home with her family, but eventually she did move away. He remembered that day all too well. It hurt him to watch her go for a second time. For a long time after he had been filled with a hopelessness, a complete feeling of emptiness.

But she came back. He didn't know how much time had passed; it had just been too long. Yet she was back in Suburbia. Eventually he managed to track her to her new house. Try as he might to give her privacy, he couldn't resist.

It was almost as if she had returned to him.

Eyes bright as the moon, he watched her house. Minutes passed, maybe even hours. He knew it was already well past 10 o'clock. Something could happen soon. And if not, he would keep waiting. Another year would pass before he'd see her again, but he could wait. He had had to do it many times.

Suddenly a light illuminated the otherwise dark lawn outside the pale-yellow house he was focusing so intently on. A burst of excitement shot through him, spreading quickly to warm his entire body. He jumped towards a large block of ice beside him, readying his silvery fingers. All the while he gazed at the house with the lighted lawn.

A shadow of the door stretched across the front lawn as it was opened. A small figured appeared from the doorway, bundled tightly against the biting cold outside. She, for the figure was clearly a she, shuffled to close the door.

Lips pulled across to reveal a full smile, Edward got to work. Shining blades glistened in the moonlight as they danced across the surface of the ice, chipping and carving intricate patterns. The feather-like chippings hurtled out the opening of the attic, spreading out in all directions as they were caught on the winter wind.

Every few seconds his gaze shifted to the figure below. She had made her way slowly off the doorstep and was moving across the snow-blanketed front lawn. Her figure was slightly stooped, and her careful steps depended on the support of a thin cane. But she was determined to make it to the front lawn, even if it meant going slow.

So many emotions filled Edward as his hands flew across the ice, making sure to keep a steady torrent of ice shavings flying from the Castle. Happiness, longing, sadness, content, loneliness. He let them all flow, knowing full well they were unavoidable.

And he kept carving.

Cautiously he let his gaze slide from his work to the town below, settling on the slight woman making her way across her lawn. She had reached the side of the house that faced the grand castle on The Hill. Her figure appeared crooked as she leaned heavily on her cane, and Edward could see her shivering hard against the cold December air.

He knew she was quite old. He didn't know how many years had passed, but he could tell from her appearance that it had been a very long time. She had aged, just like everyone else he had once known in the pastel town. And just like everyone else, she was likely to 'pass on' very soon. He had determined that all humans did that.

Except him. Mirrors in the castle, cracked as they were, showed him he hadn't aged a day since leaving Suburbia. His hair hadn't grown. His body hadn't sagged. His face, though scarred, hadn't a wrinkle to speak of. Only his eyes, dark and solemn, showed he had lived through many lonely years.

Tearing his gaze from the lone figure, he scanned the town. Or more precisely, he scanned the town for the progress of his snow. A steady torrent flew from the top of the castle, but it wasn't enough to be carried over the town.

It hadn't reached her yet. The snow had to reach her. It was it's destination.

Turning determined eyes back to the ice beneath his fingers, he carved faster. His brow furrowed in concentration as he poured everything into the sculpture; his excitement, his sorrow, his longing. His patient waiting.

Perhaps he would never age, never grow old and pass away, but there was one thing he shared with regular humans, with even the woman below; a patient waiting for what would happen. What was absolutely inevitable, no matter the odds. Though years passed without it happening, all humans waited. All their lives. Just as the woman below had done, and just as he would do.

What were they waiting for? She was waiting for a special and unexpected snow shower. He waited every year to provide it. The difference? One day her waiting would end.

Just like all humans' waiting did. Except his.

He shook his head in an attempt to push the thoughts away, focusing harder on the ice taking form beneath his silver blades. Those were thoughts he saved for the rest of days of the year. Tonight he had better things to think about.

His fingers flew across the surface of the ice, cutting it deep and hard. Soon his brow was furrowed in concentration, eyes narrowed as ice flew around him. Every few seconds he risked a glance away from the ice, to check the progress of the snow. Just a bit more wind…a little more ice…

As if to answer his silent prayer, for he had surely been praying, a hard gust of wind blew past the old mansion, sweeping the ice flying out the attic into the night air.

Edward finally stopped. Slowly he walked toward the opening in the ceiling, eyes wide with wonder as he watched the snow. Yes, snow. His lowly ice chippings were now falling gently from above, white and glittering against the dark sky. They were truly snowflakes now.

Blinking, he shifted his dreamy gaze downwards, towards the real reason he made the softly falling snow. A soft smile spread onto his pale face, warming every fiber of his being.

There she was. The love of his life, though he could never be with her. The woman he thought day and night about. The one he made snow for.

She was dancing.

His heart leapt at the sight of her, twirling gracefully in the snow. Just as she had the last night he saw her. It didn't matter that years had passed, or that she was old now. It just didn't matter.

Because he loved her, and she loved him. She had said so, all those years ago.

For a few blissful minutes he watched her dance. He sighed when she stopped. He saw her eyes as she turned to look up at the castle on The Hill. He caught the fragile kiss she blew towards him, at him.

With a mix of sorrow and fulfillment, he watched her turn from him. Slowly she walked back into her house. Back into reality, to the family and loved ones that could be with her every day. Even if he could not. And this could very well be the last time he saw her. But it was okay.

She was his Kim. And he made the snow for her.

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_Read, review, you know the drill. This is a oneshot, so I won't be updating it. And I'm fairly happy with it, so I doubt I'll be changing it at all. But I'd still very much appreciate anything you have to say about this!_


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